


The Knowledge of Approaching Death

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Drama, M/M, Rape, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus Lupin wakes up not quite alone in the Forbidden Forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Knowledge of Approaching Death

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lusty Month of May Marathon 2007. Set during PoA.

In general, humans as a species were incredibly weak. Walden Macnair hadn't realised quite how true that was until he'd joined the Dark Lord's ranks and participated in his first Muggle torture. With just the slightest pressure, they broke like twigs under his boots.

He had initially suspected that the scum of the human race – Muggles – would be the most fulfilling deaths he would ever cause. They would understand exactly what was happening to them, and he would be able to see it in their faces.

The reality was that torturing and killing humans was simply boring. Under the curses Macnair preferred to use, before they'd even had a chance to truly feel the apprehension of their death, it (or insanity) had already arrived.

And wizards weren't much better, really. They were all bravado until they'd lost their wands and were being held under the Cruciatus Curse, but after that the screaming and writhing only lasted so long. They were always left as empty shells well before Macnair was anywhere near finished with them.

It didn't take him long to discover that the only things worthy of torturing were magical creatures. Not just any creatures, though. It had to be the sentient ones, like giants, centaurs, vampires and goblins. They may be less than human, but they could survive through much worse. And there was always that frightened knowledge that they were going to die and had no way to avoid it that Macnair so enjoyed seeing on their faces.

Unfortunately, when the Death Eaters disbanded upon the Dark Lord's defeat, Macnair had to accept a job executing run of the mill 'beasts' that had gone out of control. A single swing of his axe into the neck of an animal that was too stupid to know why it had been tied down, and why that dark shadow of a man was standing over them with that glint in his eye, wasn't enough to sate his tastes. He lived for those few times (he could count them on one hand with fingers to spare) that the Ministry had given him more worthy prey. They had once decided that, for example, a centaur in Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest had gone dangerously rogue and was proving a threat to the students in the nearby castle. He'd had to hunt the creature down. In the middle of the almost pitch-black forest there had been no one to stop him for torturing the thing rather than showing swift mercy. Its continuous shrieking had made him feel alive once more, as had the quick escape so that his fellow centaurs didn't follow the noise and then try to exact their revenge on him.

He decided, when the night was over, that he had to have more of that thriving feeling, whether it was Ministry-sanctioned or not.

Unfortunately, he'd had no reason to visit Hogwarts and the surrounding forest since then, and Dumbledore would certainly notice if an intruder randomly turned up and started murdering 'innocent' centaurs. Macnair snorted at the thought; there was no such thing as an innocent magical creature. They were all vermin, strong of body and mind though they may have been.

But then Macnair was finally sent back to Hogwarts, a few years later, to put down a hippogriff. He'd had to pretend to be wildly disappointed when they found that the thing had obviously been set free, and he'd been rather proud of his own acting skills. He watched Dumbledore drag Fudge and Macnair's fellow member of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures – Macnair couldn't honestly remember his name, and didn’t really care what it was either – off for tea. Macnair, on the other hand, insisted on searching for the loose beast. Though Dumbledore had flippantly invited him to search for the animal, he narrowed his eyes at him when Macnair actually took the old man up on his offer.

Macnair hid a smile as he headed into the forest.

He had to steer clear of the large packs of centaurs, of course. Even years after he'd massacred their herd mate, he imagined they'd still be wary of allowing him near them. If they came upon him as a group they could easily overwhelm him with their numbers.

So he roamed around the outskirts of the forest and waited for any sign of a lone centaur or other beast. No one really knew what lurked in that forest, after all. He grew quickly bored of it, of course; hell, he'd be happy to find the hippogriff so that he could at least take out his frustration out on it. But he refused to give up. Even with that idiot Hagrid and his dangerous creatures around, who knew how long it might be before he got another opportunity to come back here.

The sun finally set, but Macnair didn't let the darkness bother him. It helped to shield him from the eyes of many of the creatures who lived in the forest, if anything. But then he heard a howl and stopped dead. Even though he couldn't see the moon through the thick tree cover above him, he still felt quite certain that it was full.

"Werewolf," he whispered aloud.

Where the sound of that howl, and the notion of what beast might have made it, would have scared a lesser man half to death, Macnair shuddered only in anticipation.

Werewolves truly made the best prey. Whenever one of Greyback's lot had misbehaved during the Dark Lord's reign, Macnair had been allowed to have at them. They were just like humans, or rather, they were what he'd hoped humans would be like. They had the same understandings of the effects of magic and pain and death, but they were resilient, even in their human forms. Their screams – which sounded so human despite their status as half-breeds – could last out the night.

It had been far too long since he'd felt a pleasure like that.

He cast the spell the Dark Lord had taught them to mask their scents when Greyback had been around on full moon nights. It was dark magic, and there was a chance that it might set off the Hogwarts wards, but that possibility was worth it.

He followed the noises of the werewolf around for the remainder of the night. Tracking was a lot more interesting when there was a specific target to follow, he decided, and something to look forward to. He couldn't make his move until morning, of course – the werewolf in its current form would tear him limb from limb before he could even get a spell off – but he didn’t want to lose track of the beast. When morning came, he was ready to make his move.

He found the man, the werewolf, naked and barely conscious. He looked dazed, obviously suffering from the after-effects of the transformation. Macnair chuckled. He'd had hours to satisfy his need to stalk and chase the beast. Anything that made it easier to capture the werewolf now was only too welcome.

The man heard his laugh and turned – slowly, as if he was much older than he actually was – to look at him.

"Macnair," he groaned. "Fuck."

Macnair recognised him as well. "Lupin!" he said, delightedly. "What a surprise.” A teacher at Hogwarts and a member of Dumbledore's old Order – a werewolf! Macnair grinned. "Does Dumbledore know his pet is tainted?"

Lupin frowned at him. "Yes. So telling him won't help you any. What are you doing here? You can't possibly have permission –"

"I'm searching for a beast; a hippogriff."

He saw the recognition in Lupin's eyes. "Hagrid's?"

"The bloody beast got away – or was set loose, more like – so I'm searching for it. Looks like I found something better, though."

Lupin made a move to get up, but Macnair took a few strides forward and placed his boot on Lupin's back, shoving him back down to the ground.

"I don't think you're going anywhere. No one's expecting either of us back quite yet, I think."

Even though he loved the way they screamed best of all – particularly this one, he thought with a smirk as Lupin cried out repeatedly against his will, the pain making his body fold in on itself – what Macnair loved most about torturing werewolves in human form was that unlike most magical creatures, he could visit his favourite type of torture on werewolves, for they were much the same as humans in that respect, at least.

He hit Lupin with one final fiery magical lash and then ended the spell and abruptly tossed his wand far enough away that neither of them would be able to reach it. Lupin wouldn't be able to overpower him physically in his present state, and Macnair didn't want to give him the possibility of acquiring the upper hand through magic.

He reached down and parted his robes down the front with a vicious yank, uncaring of the buttons that hit the ground and disappeared into the dense leaf litter.

He wished for a moment that Lupin wasn't on his stomach, so that he could see that Macnair wasn't wearing any underwear to constrain the hard cock the poked out of his robes, and so the look on Lupin's face in response to that knowledge was obvious. But Lupin really was in the perfect position for what was about to happen as it was.

The loudest scream of the whole session came when he thrust into the other man, the way unlubricated except for Macnair's own pre-come.

When Macnair eventually pulled away and retrieved his wand, leaving Lupin panting on the ground, he sent one last Cruciatus at the werewolf, not stopping until Lupin was frothing at the mouth. Any normal human would have been insane by then, but he knew Lupin would recover. He'd prefer him not to, of course, really, but he knew that Dumbledore would suspect Macnair of foul play if his pet werewolf turned up dead or mad in the forest the same night that a known beast killer had been roaming around in it. As much as he'd like to see a filthy half-breed like Lupin put out of his misery in the most painful way possible, now was clearly not the time.

Dumbledore couldn't know.

And he didn't have to. The new marks on Lupin's body could be explained away as self-inflicted, and bodily and mental exhaustion were both usual symptoms of a werewolf change, as far as he knew.

Macnair bared his teeth, making his decision.

"It's been fun," he growled. "For me, at least."

Lupin whimpered. Macnair kicked him in the shoulder and then muttered, " _Obliviate_!"

~FIN~


End file.
